


One Message left

by Jeaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Samulet Fix-It, at least Dean finds out, voicemail fix-it, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4558365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeaven/pseuds/Jeaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam jumped into the cage, trapping Lucier and leaving a grieving Dean behind.<br/>Two months later, he's still determited to find a way to get his little brother out of hell, but slowly falling apart when he finds something in Sams old backpack and a very intersting voicemail on his little brothers phone.<br/>/Voicemail and Samulet fix-it, but as Sam is in hell, Dean cant really tell him</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> As usual, english is not my first language so I appreciate your opinion! :)

**One Message** **left**

He eyes the liquor on the kitchen counter with vague interest. He will have to work later today, so he can't drink, but sometimes he wonders what a difference being drunk makes on his state of mind these days. He sits on the most uncomfortable chair in the whole house, his head stuffed in his hands. He hears steps.

"Dean."

He knows that voice. He heard it twice this week already, and it's only Wednesday. He sighs and raises his head. His eyes are bloodshot, and he knows it, but what can he do? Sleeping is out of the question. It wouldn't bring any rest or comfort anyway.

"You have to stop this," Lisa says gently. "It will destroy you sooner or later."

And he wants to, he really does. 'Cause that's what Sammy wanted for him, living an apple pie life, with Lisa and Ben, safe and happy. But he can't. Every second he feels Sam's absence like a dull knife in his chest, and it keeps getting worse every day.

Ben is still in school and won't be home for at least two hours, so Dean's safe to escape Lisa's try to talk to him. It's not fair to her, she does her very best after all, but it's one of the worse days, and he can't be around anyone right now. He doesn't want to lay his crap on Ben's shoulders, and thus makes sure the kid never sees him like this. Lisa does, sometimes, but it isn't like Dean could hide his condition from her.

"I'm going for a walk," he informs her. She nods, and watches him with a sad expression in her eyes as he puts his shoes on and leaves the house. He isn't going for a walk, and Lisa most likely knows that as well, but it's far easier to pretend. He keeps his grief and emptiness stuffed behind a wall most of the time. But it's unstable, hell, _he's_ unstable. It's all he can do for Lisa and Ben not to fall apart in front of them.

He opens the garage and closes the entrance gate behind him for some privacy. The impala stands in the right corner, the black metal shining without the slightest sign of dust. Dean almost feels bad for her. Even though he keeps her in good shape, he hasn't started the motor since he parked her in here, and he can't find it in him to do it now. What would be the point in driving around, anyway? The only thing he would see is the empty seat next to him.

He opens the trunk and takes out the various books he's gathered here in the past two months. It's the most he can do these days, trying to find a way to get his little brother out of hell. And he knows it's a futile search for help, because even heaven and hell together had struggled opening the cage in the first place. But that hope, the hope of getting Sam out of there, to be able to see him again, is the strongest thing he can hold onto, and it's killing him.

Today, he's not in the condition to go through all those pages. He has to steady himself on the hood as the sees Sam's backpack lying under all those books and weapons, untouched since that night in Detroit. He hadn't been able to bring himself to even consider going through Sam's stuff, but right now, he figures he can't feel worse anyway. And he gave his fucking consent for this, for Sam jumping into hell, so who is he leaving Sam's belongings here to rot?

Reluctantly, he reaches out, and closes his fingers around the rough fabric of the backpack. He pulls it out of the trunk and lets himself collapse next to his car, his back resting against her cold, hard metal. He knows his legs wouldn't support him for this anyway. He opens the clips attached to the fabric.

The first that comes out is one of Sam's worn plaid shirts. He throws it away immediately. It has still Sam's scent on it, and he just can't. Then, something clatters on the hard ground. Something that is no shirt. Dean crawls towards it and frantically shoves the fabric out of the way. His breath hitches, and his hands start to shake when he pics the golden amulet off the stone floor.

How could this be in Sam's backpack? His mind crumbles, racing back to that damn motel room, when he'd dropped it into the trashcan. Back then, it had only reminded him of he many disappointments he'd had to endure since coming back from hell. Knowing that not even god would help them had scattered his faith in redemption, and he'd thrown it away. Blinded by the anger he still held against Sam, he hadn't seen it as a symbol of their bond anymore.

He doesn't realize how tight his fingers are clamped around it until he feels the sharp sting of metal against his hand. He doesn't let go as he makes his way back to the backpack. When he slumps back onto the hood of the car, he slips the cord over his neck to feel the familiar weight of the amulet on his chest. Sam didn't let go. He picked it up and held onto it, without ever telling Dean.

The knowledge almost makes him throwing Sam's stuff back into the car and ignore it until he finds a way to get his little brother back and ask him just what the hell Sam had kept from him as well.

But he can't. Even when every fiber of his very being is screaming at him to get away from Sam's stuff, he can't. He knows it will make everything worse, but it's just not in him. The emptiness Sam has left in him threatens to overwhelm him, and he has to hold onto _something_.

Sam's laptop is next. Dean carefully takes it out of the duffel and lays it next to him. Maybe it will come in handy to find a way into Lucifers cage, but he has to finish the backpack first. He finds a gun, the pocket knife Dean had once given him for this sixteenth birthday and a copy of _Lord of the rings_. Dean smiles a little when he remembers Sam geeking out about it and wasting hours to persuade Dean into reading it too. He honestly didn't got what was so great about a few hobbits walking around, but Sam always insisted on keeping those books.

The backpack is empty now. Dean looks up a small side pocket, and finds Sam's phone. Most probably there isn't anything on it, as they had to change their phones on a regular basis, and couldn't keep anything on them that would give their identities away. Dean can't go back and face Lisa right now. And he can't just sit around, because then he will think, and his thoughts will wander to _Sam_ in _hell_ and he _can't_ go there.

So he turns the phone on and goes through the phone numbers and infos Sam's saved there. Nothing significant, until he gets to the voice messages.

_You have one saved message_ , the stoic voice of the phone informs him. _From May 1st, 2009_.

Dean frowns. Why would Sam keep a message that long? He struggles to recall when that was, either just before or after they released Lucifer from hell.

_Play?_ The voice asks him, and Dean figures he can give it a try. He jerks back from the phone, startled, when he hears his own voice, so full of hatred and anger he almost doesn't recognize it.

"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak." Everything freezes around him, as he hears his own voice taunting Sam, saying such horrible things that Deans knows this can't be real, not only because he would remember being this pissed, but because he's sure he'd still feel the punch Sam would've dropped on him if he ever heard this.

"…Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well I'm giving you fair warning I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster Sam, a vampire, you're not you anymore and there's no going back."

Dean's hand goes lax and falls into his lap as all strength he'd held onto in the past few days leaves him at once, and he can feel the tears burning in his eyes. He desperately wants to believe that this was just a skinwalker that tried to mess with them. Dean wants to believe that Sam had only forgotten to delete this. But he knows better. He remembers Zachariah saying that Sam would get a nudge in the right direction, but he'd never, once, thought about those words again. He'd believed that Sam heard him apologize. He thought Sam had heard him saying sorry and chose Ruby anyway. And now, a year later, he had to find out what really happened. Because Sam hadn't heard him apologizing for that whole mess, not once. Instead, he'd listened to this. And god knows how often...

Dean finds himself deleting the message, even though it won't do any good. Those words were etched into his mind, along with what they probably did to his baby brother.

_Monster..._

_Freak..._

_Vampire..._

Dean feels like screaming, or punching something. He can't undo this, can't even tell Sammy that he would never, ever say this, because he is in hell and...

_There is no going back._

"Shut up," he whispers, voice broken and wrecked from the effort to hold back the tears. But in the end, it's no use. Soon he can feel the wetness on his cheeks. And he wants to be angry, at Sam, or Lucifer, even himself, but he can't because the grief had worn him out, the desperate try at a normal life, for Sam, without Sam, has suffocated him.

_You go live some normal, apple-pie life, Dean._

How is he ever going to be able to live a normal life when he can't close his eyes without seeing his little brother falling? He can't even look at Ben without missing Sam, without feeling that longing for his little brother.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean can't do this, and he knows that. Lisa is right. Sooner or later, the grief is going to destroy him for good. But he can't stop. Can't stop missing Sam like a lifeline and looking for a way out. He fails at being happy like this, fails at giving Sam his last wish, but he can't help himself. That knife in his chest just cuts deeper and deeper, and Dean lets himself cry alone.


End file.
